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Her super voluptuous body and her emanating erogenous scents, oh how I did tremble at her every utterance; and you must surely be thinking this is another love story, but I assured you, dear reader, this story is far from love and close to it all the same.
She stood behind me—I was in the shed behind the lilacs, looking for a key that had been displaced and covered by a bird’s nest—and played with her little fingers; Hugh, a neighbor boy, came up and started chatting with my Cecilia, and upon hearing his prepubescent voice and their laughter echoing back and forth between the old, rickety wood that comprised the shed, my blood began to boil. Quickly, I turned and walked out and slowly attempted to send him on his way.
Hugh were a boy who asked such precarious questions—dangerous questions—and for a long time had suspected not all was well on the homefront. Hugh had a knack, I will admit, for bringing joy to my Cecilia, but that I resented; my Cecilia. Hugh always looked at her, and I could tell Hugh wondered if her walk would be less graceful when she grew up. I could see it in his envious, cherub eyes. I could not take it, and ordered him away, but not before Hugh apologized, “I’m a rude brutal boy, please forgive me.”
“HA!” I shrieked and snatched Hugh off your feet, shaking you and shoving you against the abrasive wall. Cecilia stood and screamed, which would attract attention, so I quickly grabbed her and gagged her with the cloth I had used on Hugh; she tried to escape, but I knocked her to the ground with a powerful blow to her bosom. Hugh was terrified and exasperated, out of breath as he rest against the wall. I twirled around and grabbed a glass bottle of wine and smashed it upon his head and watched as he fell unconscious.
You must understand, that my Cecilia, she was a mere thirteen years of age
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